White Walls
by SashaLikaMusica
Summary: Dani (Lady D) Harper, a seemingly hard-hearted, infamous criminal, has been captured at last and placed in the country's toughest federal prison. It's hard enough to survive a stint at the NUSFIC, but with the powerful, brutal Officer Lopez in command, Dani's not even likely to last a week – or is she? Dantana.


**A/N: And here I am again. **

**Basic storyline: fairly violent Dantana story with lots of swearwords, sex, and basic prison brutality.**

**Rating: definitely M. For sex, drugs, thematic elements, curses, and violence. Definitely don't read if you're too young for that kind of thing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Unfortunately.**

**Let me know what you think?**

**Apology: No sex in this chapter. (Sorry!)**

Day One: Orientation

"I said _on the floor! In a line! Now!"_

"Knees bent, Stiff!_ On_ _the ground!"_

"Heads _up_, eyes open! No talking!"

"You with the blue hair – quit showing us your teeth! You want to act like a dog, you'll be treated like one!" For someone as tiny as this runt, she sure was acting boldly. A scowl had been twisting her face from the moment they dragged her out of the van. So far, no one found it amusing. Maybe that shit flew down by the river in the eastern hoods, but it sure as hell didn't here. This bitch was going to have to learn her manners.

A heavy kick flew out from a steel-toed boot, landing the little asshole right in the gut. She sucked her taught stomach in and took the blow with a low grunt.

"I _said, _quit showing us your teeth, bitch! You're not a wild animal; ask your girlfriend – hey you, Princess Hairspray! Does your buddy Shortstack here want dog food for dinner or what?" The small, delicate-looking boy beside her looked up fearfully. His pristinely arranged hair wasn't an inch out of place, but two large black eyes were blooming on either side of what was clearly a broken nose.

"No sir," he whimpered. The narrowness of the room stole his voice and then bounced back at them, making it higher and shriller than it actually was. "She's good. Honestly." A loud squeal erupted from his lips when a hard shove caused him to keel over backwards. The person behind him responded with a loud protest, pushing him out of their lap.

"I didn't ask for an explanation, squirt," the guard growled in annoyance. "I only take straight responses."

The blue-haired bitch guffawed, "I bet you do." The man turned in irritation, his beady eyes narrowed in an angry glare.

"Find something funny, Shortstack?" Everyone within hearing distance caught the danger in his tone, iced and dripping from his teeth like pure hatred. The group went silent. Each one remained unmoving, as per instructions, but their peripheries were instantly trained on the scene unfolding several yards away.

The young woman allowed him no verbal answer, but the smirk plastered across her full lips told him clearly what she thought. A repeat offender in the back row, one who had endured the procedure before, cringed inwardly as the guard took a step nearer to the tiny girl. The footstep echoed firmly across dirty linoleum; the group nearly felt its vibrations surging into their sore kneecaps. With its sound beating against their eardrums, a basic fact was instantly understood by all: the little weasel had a death wish.

The sickening sound of a whip meeting flesh called out. Every body flinched away from the noise, as though they felt the bite of the lash sinking into their own pores, ripping the protective layers away. There was another, and then another. No one wanted to count, but all found themselves unconsciously doing so as each slap echoed against flat grimy surfaces and the bends in orange cargo jumpsuits. Near thirteen, the lashes ceased, and a low sigh of relief rose up from the huddled mass of humans cowering on the scuff-marked floor. There was a little blood showing, though the fabric of the jumpsuit had shielded her from the majority of the punishment, minimizing the damage done to her skin.

She was glaring up at him, her body heavy with pants, but her eyes were dry. He stared into the thick honey color for a long moment, conveying his silent warning, before kicking her body over and rolling it back into the lineup.

_"__Stand up, all of you!" _he bellowed. _"Up against the wall, facing away from the room!"_

_"__Spread your legs! Hands behind your head!"_ a woman guard on the other side of the room barked. "No picking or choosing who you stand next to. _Move it, scum! _You're about to find out what a _real_ prison pat down is like." After sparing each other a short series of uneasy looks, the group scrambled to their feet and hastened to obey – all but the one who had been whipped. She took her sweet time, strolling slowly to the wall and turning to lean up against it. A smack landed across her face.

_"_Hands behind your _head!"_ Painfully slowly, her trademark smirk only growing, the woman raised her hands. She received another slap for her audacity, which whipped her head sideways, an audible _crack_ sounding out across the room. _"Turn around!"_ With a flirtatious grin, she obeyed.

After being thoroughly searched, including several rough incidents involving long hair and a hidden razorblade, the group was handcuffed and ordered to turn around. The seven guards stalked importantly up and down the lineup, being sure to shoot intimidating glares at any nervous gigglers or fidgeting hands.

"First things first," announced a female guard with sharp features and French braids. "Welcome to the NUSFIC – the New United States Federal Incarceration Center. During your time here, you will obey all regulations as defined by the New United States Department of Defense. I would like to remind each and every one of you that this is not a summer camp. You are in federal prison. You are not here to enjoy yourself; neither are you are in charge of your life. You are being punished. Do I make myself clear?" Her voice snapped out like a piece of clothing shaken before hanging. Understanding the tone, most in the crowd nodded dully. A few mumbled in assent. Her lips spread in a thin, false smile of approval. "Good. Now Officer Karofsky here will brief you on what to expect during your time here. Have a good orientation." Leaving them with that information, she turned on her heel and stomped loudly from the room, disappearing through a side door that had not previously been noticed. Officer Karofsky, who turned out to be the guard with the whip, stepped up into her place with an obnoxious sneer curling over his chapped lips.

"Now, _scum_, let's clear the air," he snapped loudly, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform as if preparing to do dirty work. "I'm going to make one thing very clear: whatever any authority figure in this prison tells you, _you are to obey_. If you do not, I will let Shortstack's whipping be an example to all of you of the _lightest_ possible punishment you will receive." He paused momentarily, allowing the threat to sink in, before continuing with a nauseatingly nasty grin.

"Some rules," he stated, beginning to pace up and down the line they had formed. "Anyone with long hair is to have it shaved off. Long hair is a privilege specific to those trusted enough to undergo military training. Next. No personal items may be kept, with the exception of photographs. All other personal belongings will be kept in storage lockers until the time of your departure." No one in the crowd seemed to be particularly phased by this piece of information; with the background that most were descending from, none of them were likely to own anything more than a pair of underwear and their own head.

"Once you leave this room, you will be paired up as cell mates according to last name. Genders will be separated. Don't look so happy," he added coldly, as some of the women appeared to be relieved. "Men and women mingle in every other area of the building, and there are no locks between dormitories. Your safety is none of our business." He gave a low chuckle, and a young man in the back winced. He earned a kick in the lower back in return for his movement, and wisely chose not to retaliate. Officer Karofsky halted in his pacing. He turned to face the lot of them.

"To conclude, I'd like to reassure you that rule infractions are taken _exceedingly_ seriously on the behalf of the prison authorities," he warned in a low, quiet tone. "We will not hold back, and neither will your fellow inmates. As I'm sure you are aware, you people are deceitful and ruthless. If you wish to survive in this prison, you need to use every ounce of strength and strategic advantage you've got. If you die in this prison, you will only be another mouth the government doesn't have to feed. We just whip out some Windex and a little paperwork, and your existence is erased." His words were met with dead silence. It hung like a lump of lead above their heads, threatening to crush them if anybody so much as breathed.

After allowing their minds to fester for a torturous minute, Karofsky stomped a foot.

"Medical examination!" he ordered, and they filed back into their walking ranks.

* * *

><p>The smartass with the bright blue hair and the undercut had had her head shaved alongside the rest of her division. With nothing but stubble remaining cut close to her skull, her dark eyes seemed larger than normal. They bugged out in her face, but she carefully kept them stony, giving the impression that an event had rendered her shocked but unimpressed. As hair no longer masked the shape of her neck and shoulders, her upper body suddenly seemed hunched and skeletal. Unlike several of the female newcomers who managed to remain impressively gorgeous despite their situation, she appeared to be ordinary. Her figure was neither svelte nor particularly remarkable encased in her baggy jumpsuit.<p>

A small corner of her mind was grateful for the disguise; it concealed her combined viciousness and fragility. The ferocity she could use as a weapon. The fragility would need to stay hidden, like her nervousness, where she could eventually forget that it existed.

"Yo bitch, wazz yo deal?" Her narrow head snapped around to stare coldly at the lean form of her smirking roommate. She hadn't bothered learning her name. "I'm Kitty." This was why she hadn't made the effort – another trashy white girl with an equally trashy name wasn't worth her time. Nevertheless, she realized, leaning against her locker, the situation could afford her some cheap fun. This latest stint behind bars would probably prove to be dismal at best, so she might as well enjoy some humor at another's expense.

"You're _kitten_ me," she retorted lazily. Kitty's eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you."

"I bet you wish you could," the tiny woman drawled, crossing her arms with an air of being tougher than she looked. Kitty did not appear to know how to respond to this maneuver, as she gaped for close to ten seconds before forcing her mouth to shut. This bitch was going to be a pain up her ass.

"Wazz yo deal?" she settled for asking again, figuring that forward was the only way left to go. The shorter girl went in a diagonal, and raised an eyebrow.

"How about you? Got busted for selling some catnip?" She smirked. Kitty glared harder.

"If by catnip you mean weed, then yes." A low, dark chuckle rolled from the bitch's lips.

"You're awfully cheap."

"I doubt that you're much better." The honey eyes darkened at that insinuation, and she pushed herself off the locker with the backs of her hands, stalking towards her cellmate with a hard, twisted expression. One hand swiped out to grip Kitty by the front of her collar, ramming her up hard against the wall. Her bony elbow jutted out, digging nicely into her trachea.

"You, bitch, don't know what _better_ is," she spat. Tiny flecks of saliva dotted Kitty's paled face. She made a spluttering noise, the sound rough due to the constriction of her throat. The smaller girl smirked. "Like being choked, do you, Kitty-cat?" she jeered, pressing her elbow in with more force. "That one of your kinks, is it?" When Kitty shook her head frantically, the movement slightly jerky, she let out another low chuckle. "I bet it is. But that's child's play. You wanna know what _mine_ is?" she hissed, digging her blunt nails into the taller girl's side. Kitty attempted to shake her head in the negative, but a sharp knee in the lower ribs stopped all motion.

_"__Gun play,"_ the smaller one whispered, her breath sneaking into Kitty's ear and coming to rest, twitching, somewhere at the side of her neck, below where her hair used to be. "That's right. I like guns. _Love_ them, really. They give me such a _thrill_, you get me? The feeling of the cool metal pressed against your palm; the feeling of power when you have someone completely at your mercy. The _control_ is _unimaginable_," she crooned. Her smirk grew at the sight of Kitty struggling, squirming frenetically as her flow of oxygen became reduced and panic began to seep through her veins.

"You've got power over their _life_; it's your choice whether or not they draw their next breath; see the next sunrise," she continued in a low, weighted murmur. "It's in that tiny, indispensible moment that the universe hangs in a balance, waiting." She paused, watching the last trickles of consciousness beginning to seep from Kitty's eyes. "There's a space so tiny, so _unnoticeable_, in which everything significant to them occurs. And then do you know what I do?" she whispered tightly. Kitty's eyes had faded to almost nothing.

_"__I pull the trigger."_ Kitty's unconscious body went limp beneath the pressure of her hands. She released it, and the girl sagged to the floor. She smirked. This bitch was going to wake up with one hell of a headache. Hopefully, if her lascivious monologue had been convincing enough, it would inspire enough fear in Kitty to keep them at a mutual understanding and regard, if not respect, for personal space.

When she turned around, massaging her overused wrist to remove all traces of strain, her eyes fell to the small, barred window in the far wall. It was dark out, and her reflection, though blurred, was visible. Immediately, at the sight of herself, her eyes went dull. With a heavy sigh, she raised a hand to brush the stubble now replacing her thick, pretty hair. That haircut had cost her more than a day's work, and now all that floor scrubbing was going to waste. It was a pity. She had worked hard.

Her name was Danielle. She was twenty-two years old, a criminal, and alone.

She had also never touched a gun in her life, but she was nothing if not a thorough actress.


End file.
